Shine - Lauren Myracle [9]
I checked to make sure Christian was by himself and marched over.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded. My talking skills may have been rusty with the general population, but not with Christian. “You can’t just come for the doughnuts, you know. You only get doughnuts if you sit through the actual service.”
“I’m not here for doughnuts,” Christian said. “Jesus, Cat.”
I put my hands on my hips. “That’s right: Jesus. Jesus is why you’re supposed to be here. Good for you for learning your Bible lesson.”
He gazed at me. He had circles under his eyes, and his hair, dark like mine, was mashed down from his helmet. He needed a shower. He didn’t always look this thrashed, but what happened to Patrick had taken its toll on him, too. That as well as something else, I suspected—and it was the something else I had my sights on.
“What in the name of creamed corn are you blabbering about?” he said.
What in the name of creamed corn, indeed? When I was younger, I would have laughed at that expression, because it was funny. Christian, if I was being objective, was often funny. But I’d fallen out of the habit of laughing at his jokes.
Anyway, my blabbering wasn’t the issue. He was the one leaning against the church wall in jeans and a dirty T-shirt. He was the one full of intrigue and secretive, shadowed looks.
“Where’re your buddies?” I asked. I called his gang of friends the redneck posse. Their leader was Tommy Lawson, whom I hated. The other main players were Beef and Dupree, and my brother, of course. The girls attached to the group were Bailee-Ann, who was Beef’s girlfriend, and occasionally Beef’s little sister, Gwennie.
They liked to hang out at the abandoned Frostee Top, drinking beer and smoking pot. Sometimes they raced their motorcycles up to Suicide Rock. They were all about being loud and having a good time, no matter how out of control it got. After Patrick and I stopped being friends, those guys took him in and made a mascot out of him, sort of. That’s how it looked. Like, they were always teasing him, and the teasing wasn’t always nice, especially with Tommy large and in charge. But they pretended it was all in fun, even Patrick.
“Tommy’s helping his grandmother with something,” Christian said.
“His grandmother,” I said scornfully. Other kids had grannies or meemaws; Tommy had a grandmother. Ooh la la.
Christian ran his hand through his hair. “Yes, Cat. His grandmother. She needs his help, and he told her he’d meet her here.”
“Then where is he?”
“In the front parking lot with Beef, loading stuff into her car.”
“Why aren’t you helping?”
“There were only two bags. God. And since I know you’re gonna ask, here’s the answer: What’s in the bags are supplies for the new mailbox she wants, the kind that locks.”
“A mailbox that locks. How exciting.” I did a sweep of the parking lot to make sure Tommy truly wasn’t nearby. “So y’all were tearing up the hardware store while I was inside praying for Patrick. That just takes the cake, doesn’t it?”
Christian narrowed his eyes. “Lay off, will you? Or else tell me what’s gotten you so riled up. One or the other.”
I stepped closer. “You were with Patrick the night he got attacked. You ever going to tell me what happened? What really happened?”
“Patrick was attacked on Sunday morning. He was with us that night, yeah, but everyone was home by, like, one.”
“Not Patrick,” I said.
“I don’t know what you think happened, Cat,” Christian said. “It was just the bunch of us hanging out.”
“Then why do you and Beef and Tommy keep skulking around? Every time I see the three of y’all together, you’re deep in conversation. And every time I come over to say hi, you shut up quick. So what’s that about?”
“Cat?”
“What?”
“When’s the last time you came over to say hi to me or my friends? Two years ago? Three?”
I scowled.
“I suggest you work on your details before tossing out your conspiracy theories,